


Riding High

by harshmorninglight



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Basically Casual Drunken Frat Party Sex, But he gets it anyway, Drunken Sexual Activity, Groping, House Party, Klaus Hargreeves Doesn't Actually Need Help, M/M, Pseudo Incest (referenced), See: Protective Diego, Underage Drinking, brief homophobic language, brief oral, but not full sex, fraternities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:26:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25732075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harshmorninglight/pseuds/harshmorninglight
Summary: "You went to a fraternity party in a sarong and came home with a bunch of numbers. You can do this."Basically: that time Klaus went to a frat party in a sarong and came away from it with a bunch of numbers.
Relationships: Allison Hargreeves/Luther Hargreeves (Referenced), Allison Hargreeves/Original Male Character (referenced), Diego Hargreeves/Klaus Hargreeves (referenced), Klaus Hargreeves/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 127





	Riding High

**Author's Note:**

> How was I not supposed to write fic after Klaus uttered that iconic line??
> 
> This is a genuinely silly and throwaway little fic, and the tone is probably a little off as I'm trying to get used to writing in a fandom space once again. Obviously because it's me writing this, I did consider going in a darker direction but in the end I figured I'd let Klaus enjoy himself for a little while, at least before Diego ruined his fun. Sorry, baby. Better luck next time :)

They enter the party hand in hand, Allison playing it a little cooler than Klaus as she mutters under her breath, “Calm _down_ ,” in response to his haste to drag her through the front door to the frat house. 

He’s pretty excited, because why wouldn’t he be? A house party with unlimited alcohol and unlimited cute guys (if Allison’s new boyfriend, who she swapped numbers with after saving him on a mission, is anything to go by), and best of all a night away from the crushing structure and routine of their own dank and drab home. It was a mission in itself to sneak out, that’s for damn sure, but Allison and Klaus are pretty unbeatable when they put their minds together, and Vanya was nice enough to act as a decoy while they stole the window keys from Reginald’s desk and eased their way down the fire escape and out to sweet, sweet freedom.

“You know me, always ready to get the party started!” he says, throwing a grin over to her, and she rolls her eyes in exasperation.

“You’ve never been to an actual party before, idiot. Dad’s weird little _soirées_ don’t count.”

“Well this one definitely does.”

And it really, really does. Klaus thrills at the sound of _Beastie Boys_ pumping from some overhead speakers, the sweet scent of weed, gin and juice entwined together, and the sight of fraternity guys wandering around in tight polo shirts, tighter track shorts, thighs and biceps rippling, eyes sweeping over Allison and Klaus with curiosity as they make their way through to the hub of the main reception room, where Allison says Justin will be waiting for her.

As soon as she sees her new beau, she squeals in delight (and Klaus can’t help but feel it’s a little rich for her to tell _him_ to calm down) and snatches her hand away in her excitement to rush over and embrace him.

Justin is hot, Klaus has to admit with a slight twinge of jealousy. Definitely hotter than Luther. He’ll never understand why Allison has spent so many years mooning over that big lug. He’s tall and built, muscles honed from playing quarterback for his college’s soccer team, and Allison says he can lift her almost as effortlessly as Luther.

So, yeah. Justin is hot. But the guy standing next to Justin, who greets his sister with a friendly hug and a charming smile, arm resting lazily on his fraternity brother’s shoulder, is somehow even hotter. 

Klaus whimpers a little under his breath and wonders whether he should introduce himself.

But now that he’s no longer got Allison to squeeze his hand and give him a little physical and moral support, he suddenly feels less sure of himself. That’s exacerbated when a third frat guy ( _who… talking of big lugs…_ ) appears in front of him from nowhere, an expression of clear disgust on his face.

“Fags… or dykes… or whatever the fuck _you_ are… aren’t allowed in here,” he grunts, and Klaus is about to thank him for not assuming his gender, when Allison spins round to face them, eyes narrowing in anger.

“What,” she asks, her tone warningly calm, “did you just say to my brother?”

Klaus opens his mouth to say _It’s okay, Alli, I’ll just leave_ , because he _really_ doesn’t want her to descend into the quite frankly terrifying rumor spiral that occurs when she’s emotionally invested in the person she’s directing it at, and honestly he was probably overreaching a bit thinking he’d fit in at a party like this.

But then something unexpected happens. The fraternity brother next to Justin strides over with confidence and squares up to Klaus’s assailant. 

“Stand the fuck down, pledge. Where are your manners? This is a member of the Umbrella Academy, and therefore our esteemed guest. Not to mention,” and here he turns to look Klaus up and down, and Klaus resists the urge to whimper again, “the prettiest fucking thing I’ve seen in all my nineteen years on this Earth, which also makes me question your eyesight as well as your lack of decorum. Now go and mop the bathroom. The stink of vomit should remind you of your gross fucking face.”

The fraternity pledge turns an interesting shade of puce green before absconding from the party as quickly as his feet can carry him. Klaus feels a little giddy as his saviour apparent turns to him and extends an open palm. Instead of a shake, though, he brings Klaus’s trembling hand up to his mouth and presses a kiss to the back of it.

“I’m Simon. And you must be Klaus.”

Klaus nods, hoping he doesn’t look too spaced out with lust, as Allison giggles somewhere behind him.

“Nice skirt,” Simon tries again, his smile revealing dimples that Klaus kind of wants to stick his tongue in.

“Oh, well, _danke_. But it’s actually a sarong.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Well, a skirt typically goes right round the waist, and has a zip fastening at the back or side. Sarongs… they’re sheer, and they tie up to the front, here,” Klaus says, standing back so this apparently sartorially-curious jock can appreciate what he means. Immediately, though, Simon’s eyes fall on the expanse of thigh that the knot at the highest possible point of the sarong reveals. “So… yes. They’re a little different.”

“Damn,” Simon says. “You really suit it.” He makes a twirling motion with his finger, and Klaus giggles a little as he spins for him. “Good from the back too. But even better from the front. Maybe you could show it off later? I’m sure our ping pong table could support a dainty thing like you dancing on it.”

“I think I’d have to be a _lot_ drunker for that,” Klaus says, the hint not exactly subtle. Simon raises an eyebrow and Klaus’s heart flutters a little. He really _is_ incredibly handsome, and he silently imparts his thanks to Allison, who isn’t anywhere to be seen now, for bringing him here. 

“Oh! Say no more, princess. Let’s get you to the bar.”

A couple of shots down, an encouraging hand on the small of his back from Simon, and Klaus is feeling the familiar buzz of tipsiness but with none of the joykill that the Academy walls bring with them. With the exception of that first pledge, everyone is being so _friendly_ , refilling his cup, challenging him to drink faster and faster, complimenting his outfit choice and finding little reasons to rub his arm, his neck, his face, his hips… even his legs. 

Klaus likes being touched. It’s kind of a weakness, if he’s being honest with himself.

At one point Simon is called away and another fraternity brother, with tanned skin and dark eyes that remind him of Diego’s, keeps a close eye on him, asking him all about his life and his relationship with the other members of the Academy.

“I guess it must be a bit like a fraternity,” Carlos muses, as Klaus suppresses a hiccup, wondering if his lips have been dyed red from the cherry cordial his gin has been mixed with. He thinks maybe yes, from the way Carlos is eyeing them hungrily. “And you know, sometimes the guys here… we have been known to fuck around a bit with each other, when we’re horny enough. Just bro stuff. Do you ever get fucked.By your brothers?”

Klaus blinks, trying to remember. There’s a lot of (honestly quite annoying) sexual tension in their house, and he’s fantasised about his brothers fucking him so many times, to varying degrees of satisfaction, that he sometimes convinces himself it’s actually happened. “No? But one time I sucked Diego off.”

“Neat,” Carlos says. “I bet he really appreciated that. That was very sweet of you.”

“Thanks,” Klaus says, grinning. “He _did_ seem pretty happy.”

“I bet. And how about you and Allison? Do you… you know…. make out together? Like that poster of the two white girls kissing on the bed? God, I love that poster.”

“You’re weird,” Klaus giggles, kind of relieved when Simon joins them again, pushing Carlos’s hand away from his ass and replacing it with his own. “I do like weird people though. Dad says that I’m weird, but he can fucking talk.”

“Your dad sounds like a boner kill,” Simon says. “But I’m glad he trained you guys up. I love watching you on TV. You’re hilarious.”

“We are?”

“Yeah. You especially. Carlos, watching that TV tour of the mansion they live in? Klaus and the big blonde one... Luther, right? The host asked them to wrestle, and we-”

“Oh yeah, you jerked me-”

“We cheered for you,” Simon butts in, shooting a heated glare at his friend, and Klaus blinks, confused, the conversation starting to blur a little under the wave of alcohol,, “But it was a bit unfair, wasn’t it, because Luther has super strength and you don’t. He kept pinning you. It was definitely hilarious, though, watching you try.”

“Hmm,” Klaus says. “It was more annoying than funny. Luther is _such_ a neanderthal.”

“I can see that,” Simon says, nodding. “Justin says he’s a dick, and that he’s majorly jealous over Allison dating him.”

“Incest vibes,” Carlos says sagely. “I bet you can cut the sexual tension in that house with a knife.”

Klaus leans into Simon’s touch, arching his back a little “What about the sexual tension in _this_ house?”

“No tension. Just sex. That’s our fraternity motto.”

And before Klaus has a chance to respond to _that_ little titbit, Simon has swept him up in his arms. Klaus lets out a shriek of delight, legs parting slightly as Simon’s large hand brushes dangerously close to the line of his panties where his sarong has ridden up. “Time for you to dance for us, princess,” he murmurs in his ear, and Klaus looks round the room for a second to see Allison disappearing up some stairs, hand in hand with Justin.

“Alli,” he yells, a little panic but also a little excitement in his voice. “They want me to dance for them!”

“Then dance for them, Klausy!” she yells back, giggling, which he just about makes out over the cheer of approval from the guys assembled round the ping pong table that Justin unceremoniously dumps him on.

He doesn’t have much of a frame of reference for dancing ‘sexy’ but when _Milkshake_ by Kelis starts bouncing off the speakers, he has enough rhythm to start twirling his hips, hands coming up over his head as he responds with more enthusiastic movement to the roars of approval from the guys below him.

“Please fucking marry me,” one of them pleads, falling to his knees, and Klaus giggles with happiness, squatting down to press his lips against his proposer’s lips, as he feels hands at his ass, now stuck up in the air, squeezing and petting it. He’s honestly a bit overwhelmed when he starts being pulled from one guy to the other, the smoothness of the table and the sheerness of his sarong sending him sliding around like the ping pong game it was designed for. Kisses are pressed to his lips, softly at first, becoming hungrier as more guys take their turn, and Klaus thinks he’ll probably let every single guy fuck him tonight if they want to, on account of them all being so cute and nice and open-minded and all.

Some of them start taking off their tops, moving closer, and Klaus tries not to gawp at the blissful sight of defined muscles, washboard abs, arms bigger than his entire waist.

Then Carlos pulls off Klaus’s tight crop top, and another frat brother trickles tequila over his chest. Klaus giggles at the coldness of it, and then at the warmth of tongues tracing down his body as he leans back flush against the table. Someone parts his legs and spills more booze there, and he isn’t giggling anymore but rather moaning as more than one tongue starts to work their magic between his thighs.

“So pretty,” Simon is whispering in his ears. “Just say if it’s too much, baby, just tell me and I’ll rescue you.” 

“I _don’t_ need rescuing,” Klaus gasps back as his panties are finally pulled off and pocketed by a particularly intense looking guy who’s looking at Klaus like he’s a cold energy drink at the end of a long track session. “This is so much fun.”

“Yeah?” Simon’s eyes are shining, and he’s so handsome, so cute. Klaus immediately begins planning out their whole entire future together, because what else is he meant to do with this sort of attention? “ _You’re_ so much fun, princess.”

They lean in to kiss each other. There are tongues in places there probably shouldn’t be, and fingers moving towards places they _definitely_ shouldn’t be, but it’s still hands down the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to him. 

Until… a familiar whistle of metal breaks over the music, whooshing past his ear and landing a single hair’s width away from Simon’s neck.

“Go away, Diego,” he groans. “I’m having the best night of my life.”

“Sorry, _Princesca,_ but Vanya ratted you out, and dad’s furious. Get a fucking wriggle on.”

“ _Ugh_.”

Simon looks crestfallen as Klaus maneuvers himself off the table, sending apologetic glances and the occasional “sorry” to every guy surrounding him. Luckily, for the sake of their various limbs, nobody tries to push it, as Diego hollers up the stairs for Allison to get her ass down right now, a further knife in his hand still pointing at what Klaus supposes he sees as the ‘scene of the crime’ - the ping pong table.

There’s various scuffling and scribbling going on as Klaus straightens out his clothes; when his hands are free again he’s bewildered to find the guys around him pressing pieces of paper in his hand, freshly-penned ink smudging as they urge him to call them. In total there must be about fifteen, and Simon presents his own last, a cute heart in the corner.

“Please, princess, you have to call me once you get out of that prison,” he urges him, leaning in for a desperate Romeo-and-Juliet-about-to-be-discovered-by-their-warring-families type kiss, and Klaus clings to him like a kitten testing out its claws even as he feels Diego hoisting him under his arm in an embarrassingly undignified mockery of a carry.

“Fuck off, Diego!”

“Seriously, fuck off, Diego,” Allison chimes in, as Diego uses his other arm to push her out. “I heard a rumor that-”

“Don’t even _think_ about it,” Diego growls. “You know I’m just following that old bastard’s orders.”

In the taxi home, Allison glowers out of the window and mutters away to herself about making Vanya _pay_ , while Klaus shuffles through the numbers he’s been given, already forgetting who they belong to. _It doesn’t matter_ , he thinks, _because I only want to call this one_ , and he smiles softly to himself as he stares down at the cute little heart.

His daydream is _rudely_ interrupted by Diego snatching the numbers out of his hand, winding down the window and scattering them into the night.

“Diego, what the _hell_?”

“I didn’t like the look of those guys,” Diego says with a shrug. “Especially the one kissing you. Seemed like a real sleaze.”

“He was _not_.”

Klaus folds his arms and tries not to pout. Why isn’t he _ever_ allowed any fun? He hates his stupid dad and stupid Diego _so_ much....

…and _no_ he isn’t going to fall for Diego’s attempts at a make-up, he isn’t going to melt like he always does, even when he puts his broad arm around Klaus’s shoulder and pulls him in close and kisses him on the forehead. He isn’t weak. He can’t be _bought_ with affection. He can’t-

“You looked so hot like that, by the way,” Diego whispers in his ear. “It got my dick so hard.”

“Really?” Klaus says, maybe melting a _little_. He can practically hear Allison rolling her eyes in the seat next to him and he decides not to look at her in order to confirm his suspicion.

“Really. That little sarong you’re wearing? You borrowed it from Grace, right? When we went undercover at that beach resort once. It’s pretty.”

“God, this family has issues,” Allison says mounfully.

Klaus sighs, and rests his head against Diego’s chest, falling into another fantasy with a slightly _different_ romantic lead this time, as Diego bites back at Allison, “You can talk, Luther-fucker.”

The car heads home and Klaus plays with the hem of his sarong and smiles.


End file.
